Misfit
by Panamint
Summary: COMPLETE! This story takes place not long after Bruce adopts Dick. It's all done now, as you can see. Please R&R if you haven't already! Thanks! :)
1. Chapter One

**_Misfit_**

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of these characters (I may be smart--debatable--but I'm no genius). No infringement is intended and I am making no money off of this (although that doesn't sound half bad...). Seriously, though, I'm just borrowing these characters for a while. Thanks to Bob Kane and Bill Finger for inventing these characters so Bat-obsessed lunatics like me could play around with them some 65 years later. Wink. ;-)_

_WARNING: I can guarantee that there is going to be one major detail in this fic that's going to get you thinking 'what the--?!' If you want to know what's going on with that, review. If you ask nicely and remember your manners, I just might put a reviewer reply in the next chapter and explain where that's coming from. Thank you!_

_FEEDBACK AND CONSTRUCTIVE CRITISISM ARE VERY WELCOME_

**_Part One:_**

**_Once a Trapeze Artist, Always a Trapeze Artist_**

Dick sat quietly against the brick building that was his new school, watching the other kids play, like he had for the past week. He wished he could join them, and he probably would have since he wasn't totally shy, but a couple of the other kids had made it perfectly clear that they didn't want Dick around. He hadn't even had the nerve to say anything to or around them the whole week he had been there.

_So I'm reduced from being friends with an entire circus troupe to being a nine-year-old nobody from the Big Top, _Dick thought sadly, pushing the round, awkward-looking glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. Why had Zucco killed his parents, anyway? They hadn't done anything wrong! They'd never hurt anybody in their entire lives, by accident **or** on purpose!

_At least they don't know I was in the circus—yet. If they did, I have the feeling they'd be teasing me about more than just wearing glasses and being short... but what's wrong with being short?! When you're an aerialist, it's BEST to be short! Trouble is, I'm not an aerialist anymore..._

The bell rang. While the other kids groaned at the sound, Dick sighed in relief. He felt like such a misfit sitting against the wall while everybody else enjoyed themselves.

Dick picked up his backpack, slung it over his shoulder and followed everyone inside.

By the time Dick reached his classroom, most of the other kids were already there, shoving their textbooks carelessly into their desks and placing their homework on the corner of their desks. Dick sat down discreetly at his own seat and began doing the same. He was a fast learner, and knew pretty much all the rules, even though he had only been at this school for a week.

At that moment, three very tall boys with somewhat-scowling faces walked into the room. Dick shuddered a little. He had a bad feeling about them, especially the 'ring-leader' who had introduced himself as Billy that first day when the teacher had asked everyone to stand up and tell their newest classmate their names.

Ms. Whitman walked into the room. She was a medium-sized woman with graying hair who always wore a pair of glasses attached to a beaded string, making her look older than she really was. Most of the other kids thought the funny-looking spectacles didn't even have glass in them.

"Good morning, class," said the teacher.

"Good morning, Ms. Whitman," the class chorused...

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The morning went smoothly enough, except that Billy had seen fit to tug on Nichelle Applegate's pigtail. He was now going to spend the recess period in detention, thanks to the fact that Grace Winslow had told Ms. Whitman exactly what had made Nichelle yelp. Of course, Billy's cronies had spent the rest of history class whispering 'tattle-tale' in Grace's ear. Dick had shot them some warning glances, but they had only silenced for about five seconds before taunting poor Grace again.

_Maybe they'd take me more seriously if I did like I'd do during performances in the circus and wear contact lens, _Dick thought after another unsuccessful attempt to stop the bigger boys from teasing Grace. Scrunching up his nose in disgust, he quickly added, _Ugh, no way!_

During recess, as Dick was heading for his usual spot by the wall, he saw Dylan and Peter—Billy's 'friends'—laughing at something. There were a few other kids there, too, and they were all laughing. Instantly suspicious, Dick went over and finally caught sight of what they thought so amusing.

It was Grace Winslow, and they were yelling at her and laughing. Dick thought that he had heard 'savage' or 'Indian girl' pass the lips of several students, but that was soon replaced by 'tattle-tale'. Dylan was even threatening her:

"...you get Billy—or us—into any more trouble and I'll rearrange your teeth...!"

A boy threatening to beat up a girl?! Was Dylan really that unorthodox?

_Yes._

Dick couldn't control himself any longer. He shoved his way to the middle and glared at everybody while Grace cowered behind in shock.

"Why don't you just leave her alone? She didn't do anything wrong!" Dick said. Those were the first words he had spoken to anybody since arriving.

The kids merely laughed.

"Well, well, well," taunted Dylan. "Four-Eyes can talk, after all."

"Why don't you go jump in the lake?" Dick suggested, only half joking. The others instantly stopped laughing, and everyone except Dylan and Peter backed up hurriedly. Nobody had _ever_ told Dylan Anderson to 'jump in the lake'.

"He's in for it now!" a girl named Tina Kelley whispered anxiously. Dick ignored her. He instantly clenched his fists, ready to defend himself and Grace if he had to.

Peter and Dylan both looked as shocked as Tina.

Not long afterward, Dylan found his voice and said menacingly, "So, the shrimp wants to fight, does he? Well, we'll give him a fight..."

Both of Billy's cronies pounced. Dick saw them and instantly did a back handspring out of the way. Dylan and Peter collapsed on top of each other.

_What do you know? Acrobatics comes in handy for more than just the trapeze after all!_

The two boys got up quickly, both angrier than ever.

_Alright, guys. Go ahead and pound me—if you can catch me!_

"You're gonna regret that, small-fry," Peter growled.

"Hey, look!" Dylan suddenly laughed. "Shorty wears jewelry!"

Dick looked down. During his flip to safety, the chain with his parents' wedding rings that was usually tucked neatly under his shirt had been exposed. He turned a little red, although he was not ashamed of wearing the special necklace. After all, not only did it have his parents' rings on it, but it had also been a gift from Pop Haly, the circus owner.

"And look what's on it—wedding rings!" Peter crowed. He stood up and gave it a tug. The hooks that held the chain together fell apart and Peter took the chain.

"Hey! Give it back!" Dick yelled. He made a grab for the chain, but Peter stuck his arm out and prevented Dick from taking back what was rightfully his.

Before Dick could stop him, Peter began reading the inscriptions on the inside of the rings out loud so everyone could hear:

_"For my Mary, the love of my life."_

And

_For John, who taught me to fly."_

"Awwwww, I'm gettin' all misty-eyed," Dylan said, wiping away an imaginary tear. "Ain't the just so romantic...?"

Well, that did it! Dick could tolerate people teasing _him_, but nobody insulted his _parents_ and got away with it! Dick lunged for Peter and tackled him to the ground. While Peter was still dazed, Dick took the chain back and quickly put it back around his neck. Peter noticed that Dick wasn't paying much attention to him and threw the smaller boy off his stomach. Dick landed hard on his back, but was up by the time Peter was ready to attack again. And when he lunged, Dick easily launched himself into the air and executed several somersaults over the larger boy's back, landing neatly on the other side. Once he was there, Dick decided to take advantage of the situation and kicked Peter's bottom. The kids who had stuck around to watch found themselves laughing, despite several warning glances from Peter. They knew that Dick was keeping him busy enough so that he wouldn't have time to punch out anybody else.

Unfortunately, while trying to avoid Peter, Dick had lost sight of Dylan, who had snuck up from behind and grabbed the much smaller Dick around the waist. He struggled valiantly, but Peter had already gotten in a few painfully good blows before he had freed himself.

"STOP! STOP THAT FIGHTING THIS INSTANT!"

Everybody froze and the crowd dispersed. Principal Emma McNeilson was storming towards them with an outraged look on her face. And Dick didn't blame her for being angry one bit.

"What's the meaning of this?" Principal McNeilson demanded. "Fighting in the school yard as if it were a boxing ring! Really! Who started this?"

Nobody answered, afraid to tell on Dylan and Peter.

"I want an answer, and I want it now," the Principal said in her 'no-nonsense' tone of voice.

Finally, Grace whispered, "I did."

Dick couldn't believe his ears. Grace didn't have anything to do with the fight! Well, except that she was the one being teased because she had told on Billy...

Principal McNeilson looked stunned. "_You_, Grace Winslow?"

Grace nodded, tears gathering in her hazel eyes. "Yes. It's my fault they were fighting."

Dick glanced at Peter and Dylan. They were smirking and snickering quietly among themselves.

"That's not exactly true, Miss McNeilson," Dick said quietly.

The two bullies stopped laughing. The principal looked as if she were about to have a heart attack. It couldn't be Dick Grayson actually talking, now could it? Up until this point, half the school was convinced he _couldn't _talk!

"Did you say something, Dick?" she asked.

Dick nodded, prodding at the glasses again. "It was Dylan and Peter who started the fight. Not Grace... and, I guess I had a little bit to do with it too..."

"No!" Grace fairly yelled. "You didn't have anything to do with it except that Dylan and Peter decided to beat you up in front of the whole fourth grade."

"Will someone please tell me the truth?" McNeilson asked in a tired voice.

"It was Dylan and Peter!" a few boys and girls cried, pointing accusatory fingers at them.

"Alright, then. Dick, Grace, you'd better come, too," said the Principal. She took Dylan and Peter by the collars and steered them towards her office. Dick and Grace followed silently.

* * *

And if THAT didn't get your attention, tell me what will! O.o Please don't flame too meanly--this is my first shot at drama and it took a lot of courage for me to post this crud!! 


	2. Chapter Two

_**Misfit**_

**_Chapter Two_**

**Disclaimer: Thus far, believe it or not, I own everything and everybody in this story except for Bruce, Dick and the movies he's seen, Alfred, Pop Haly and the dead people. And Bruce Springsteen. If you want to use any of the other characters or items, ASK FIRST for cryin' out loud!! It's not like it'd kill you...**

**Hey. Nobody asked about the glasses. Interesting. (and don't you dare tell me you didn't notice them! I know you did...) Since nobody asked, I don't think I'll answer. :-P**

William West watched the fight from the principal's office. That Grayson kid was good! He was making mincemeat out of his pals (okay, that part he'd have to get revenge for later). There were just a couple of things that Billy was wondering about: where had he learned to do all those fancy flips? And why did the name 'Dick Grayson' sound so familiar?

Usually, Billy wasn't into research of any kind, but now he thought some research on Four-Eyes Grayson was in order. Besides, it might uncover something embarrassing enough to get his revenge with.

He snuck over to Principal McNeilson's computer and logged on to the Internet, hoping that nobody would hear the dial-up tones from the hall.

_Even if they do, they'll think it's the principal, _Billy thought.

As soon as he was on, he visited one of those search engines and typed in

Dick Grayson

He came up with about a zillion results, but the one he wanted proved to be right on top.

"No way!" he murmured in amazement. "Get out...! Man, Grayson, I am gonna _murder_ you tomorrow! This is—"

The doorknob turned. Billy hurried back to his desk in the corner and pretended to continue copying definitions out of the dictionary.

"Oh, Billy," said Principal McNeilson, as if she had forgotten he was there.

As the principal called one of the "Pride Patrol" officers from the hall and asked him to escort Billy back to his classroom, Billy took a minute to glance at the four disheveled students out of the corner of his eye. Grace looked frightened, but clean. Dylan and Peter looked as if they had tried to wrestle a tornado (which might have been safer). And Dick... well, let's just say he didn't look as 'picture perfect' as he had earlier.

"Billy," called the principal. "James here will take you back to your classroom. Ms. Whitman should be there already and will keep an eye on you until recess is over."

Billy merely got up and followed James obediently, still thinking about his new-found weapon to use against Four-Eyes. As he got closer to the classroom, an elaborate plan began to form. Billy grinned devilishly.

_Just you wait till tomorrow, Grayson! You're toast!_

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"Now, I would like a complete explanation for the irrational behavior I just saw out there," said the principal.

_Must she use such big words?_ Dick thought. Not that he didn't know what 'irrational' meant, but Dick just felt stupid when people used big words like that (and between the principal, Bruce Wayne and Alfred, Dick had been feeling very stupid lately).

Grace began the story:

"It started when I told Ms. Whitman that Billy was pulling Nichelle's hair..."

Between Dick and Grace, the whole story came out, except for the part about the necklace which had been carefully omitted by Dick. Dylan and Peter refused to say anything, which didn't please the principal at all.

"Alright," she said when they had finished. "Grace, you return to your class and tell your teacher that _Dick_ will be returning shortly."

From the way Principal McNeilson emphasized 'Dick', it was pretty clear that Dylan and Peter would be spending a good, long time in detention.

After Grace left, McNeilson escorted the three remaining students to Nurse Takei's Office. She was about to go back to her own office when Dick's quiet voice stopped her.

"Principal McNeilson... you aren't going to tell Bruce about this, are you?"

The principal looked confused for a minute. "Bruce?" she repeated. Suddenly, her eyes widened in comprehension. "Oh! You mean Mr. Wayne! Bruce _Wayne_!"

Dick was more than tempted to say "Of course, Bruce _Wayne_! Who did you _think_ I'd be worried about, Bruce_ Springsteen_?!" However, he figured he was in enough trouble without adding 'back-talking the principal' to the list. So instead, he nodded as he nudged the glasses upwards again.

_It's a wonder they didn't fall off and crack during the fight._

Principal McNeilson squatted in front of Dick and said gently, "I'm afraid I have to tell him—and even if I didn't, he'd be sure to notice that bloody nose of yours."

Dick dabbed at the space between his nose and upper lip with two fingers. It stung, and the fingers came away red.

"But don't worry," the principal said, "I'll make sure that he understands this wasn't your fault."

Dick nodded a little, but couldn't shake the feeling that he was going to be in big trouble just the same.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Dick's feeling proved to be partially correct: Bruce Wayne was far from pleased when Dick came home with a bruised cheek, a bloody nose and about a dozen other minor injuries. However, Principal McNeilson had gone out of her way to make it clear that the injuries were not Dick's fault, and he didn't blame Dick for anything.

Then there was Alfred. He wasn't happy with Dick at the moment either. Dick had just ruined his school uniform, and there was no way any of that "miracle detergent" would ever get out all the dirt and grass-stains and rips in the navy blue pants and formerly white shirt.

Now, only fifteen minutes after coming home, Dick was in his room. Bruce wasn't much for giving lectures. Come to think of it, he wasn't much for talking, period. In the two months that Dick had been here, Bruce hadn't said more than a couple sentences at a time to his ward. Why? Dick didn't have a clue. He had tried to be nice, always smiling whenever his guardian came into a room, trying to make conversation. But nothing ever worked. Bruce rarely ever spoke to Dick, and as for smiling... well, it was non-existent as far as he went. Much different from the circus life, where everyone was always smiling and talking and laughing...

Dick sighed, thinking of his parents and his former home. He leaned over the side of the bed and pulled out a little wooden box that Pop Haly had made and given to Dick just before the ex-trapeze artist went to live with Bruce Wayne.

"It's a memory box," Haly had said. "You put things in it that are important to you. And I already have something for it."

Haly had pulled something out of his pocket, put it in the box and then shut the lid.

"Don't open it till you get to your... new home," Haly instructed. Dick did as he said and, when he did open it that night, he found the chain necklace with two gold bands strung on it—his parents' wedding rings. Dick had cried all that night, and hadn't taken the chain off for a minute since.

Now, all that the box contained were a few letters and photos of 'the gang' from Haly's Circus. Dick spent a lot of time looking at them and wishing he was back with his real family.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Come in," Dick said, quickly shoving the Memory Box back under his bed. He didn't really want anybody else seeing his private stuff.

Alfred stood in the doorway.

"Oh, hey, Alfred. And if you've come to lecture me, I'll save you the trouble." Doing his best Alfred-imitation, Dick said, "Master Dick, your actions at school this afternoon was abominable. I am shocked and disappointed that you should display such horrible behavior."

Alfred shook his head, looking amused and annoyed at the same time.

"No, young sir, I merely came to talk."

"That's the same thing."

"Not at all, Master Dick," Alfred insisted, sitting next to Dick on the boy's bed. "I merely thought that we were long overdue in getting to know one another."

"Well, that's okay then," said Dick. "Whaddya wanna know?"

Alfred tried to ignore Dick's less-than-impressive terminology as he replied, "Anything you wish to tell me, Master Dick—perhaps you'd be willing to start with why you wear those glasses when I'm sure contact lens would do just as well?"

"Oh. These?" Dick pulled off the glasses and pretended to look at them, although he honestly couldn't see a thing when they were off. "Well, I could wear contacts, I guess, but I don't like 'em very much. I didn't have a choice when we were performing—the glasses would fall off, and they'd be pretty hard to fix after falling seventy feet to the ground!" Dick was silent a moment, then added, "You were surprised when I walked in the front door for the first time with these things on, weren't you?"

"I must admit, I did not expect you to be wearing spectacles."

"They're _glasses_, Alfred. 'Spectacles' make me feel old. Which I'm not."

"Of course not," Alfred complied amiably, watching as Dick replaced the glasses. After watching the boy's facial features for a moment, he said, "There's another reason you prefer those glasses to contacts, is there not?"

"Well..." Dick hesitated. "They used to belong to my Dad. When he discovered contact lenses, he gave them to me. They're sorta special..."

There was another silence as Dick thought about his late father. He had always been so lively and funny and animated... why had he died and left him all alone? Why...

Breaking the somewhat uncomfortable pause, Alfred inquired, "What sort of things did you do with your father, Master Dick?"

"You mean besides perform before hundreds of people under a muggy ol' circus tent?" Dick quipped. "Not much, but I remember that he used to love old movies. Sometimes, I thought the only things he liked better than Judy Garland were my mom and the trapeze."

Dick grinned a little to himself at some fond memory of the past. "Sometimes when we took the night off from practicing we'd all sit down on the couch and watch _Gone with the Wind_ or _Cover Girl_ or something. Mom would always cry through the end of _West Side Story _and I'd usually talk through half of _Here Comes Mr. Jordan,_ then Dad would pretend to get mad and box my ears."

"It sounds as if you and your parents really, really loved each other," Alfred commented thoughtfully.

"We did!" Dick agreed. He swallowed back the rapidly growing lump in his throat. He hadn't talked about his parents since their deaths. It was scary, yet strangely relieving, too.

After a minute, he continued, "I think my favorite movie was _An American in Paris_. Know why?"

"Why is that, Master Dick?"

"Well, not only was the music and dancing great, but I remember the first time we watched it. Right in the middle of the scene where Gene Kelly sings "Love is Here to Stay" to Leslie Caron near the river, Dad got up, bowed to Mom... and they danced. I'd never seen them dance before, and never did again. But it seemed to make them so happy..."

Alfred watched sympathetically as Dick pushed at his glasses again to wipe away the tears.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Later that same day, someone else knocked at Dick's bedroom door.

"Come in," he said.

Bruce poked his head in.

"Phone call, Dick," was all he said before disappearing.

"Phone call?!" Dick repeated in confusion. He followed his guardian back downstairs while saying, "Whaddya mean, 'phone call'? I don't know anybody, and nobody knows me! Who is it?"

By this time, the duo was downstairs. Bruce handed Dick the phone and promptly left. Dick sighed at the lack of friendliness between the two of them and said, "Hello?"

"Is this Richard Grayson?" a slightly peeved female voice asked. If Dick was confused before, he was even more so now. The only females he knew were the Dubois twins, who rode bareback in the circus, but they were French. Of course, it could have been Bertha the Bearded Lady, but Dick knew a bearded lady when he heard one. Besides, no-one ever—_ever_—called him 'Richard'. Dick, yes. Dickie, yes. And his mother had called him 'little Robin' often enough. But never was the name Richard used unless he was in humongous trouble.

"Yes, this is Richard... Dick... Grayson," Dick told the voice.

All of a sudden, the woman started ranting and raving about... about what? Dick couldn't make out a word she was saying. All he knew was that this woman was either crazy, or that he had inadvertently done something to offend her.

"Uh, ma'am? Why are you yelling at me?" Dick asked. "I don't even know who you are!"

"I'm Mrs. Anderson, that's who I am!" the woman shouted. Anderson... Dick repeated the name to himself... this couldn't be Dylan Anderson's mother, now could it? Dick asked the enraged woman if she was indeed Dylan's mom.

"I most certainly am! How dare you beat up my son like this! He won't be able to walk without limping for a week!"

"Well, don't blame me! It's not my fault if he threw the first punch!" Dick protested, unaware that Bruce had come back into the room and was leaning in the doorway, listening to everything his ward said.

"He was teasing a girl at school!" Dick was saying on his own behalf. "I told him and another guy to knock it off and he tried to kill me... no offense, lady, but I don't care what your son says. He's twice my size; why would I—... YES, I AM calling your son a liar!"

Bruce winced slightly. _Not exactly a tactful move there, _he thought, wiping a hand down his face.

"Well, excuse me for telling the truth!... Hey, do I insult your mother?! Mine's dead anyway! What has she got to do with this... well, now you DO know... forget it! I'm not apologizing to Dylan for trying to knock my block off and threatening to beat up a girl... good-bye, ma'am!"

Dick slammed the phone on Mrs. Anderson and turned to leave the room. He saw Bruce standing in the doorway and gulped. Was he in trouble again?

"You heard?" Dick questioned, already knowing the answer.

Bruce nodded. "I heard," he said quietly.

Bruce chanced a look into Dick's face, half-hidden by the ridiculous glasses he always wore. Bruce thought that Dick was a rather plain-looking boy with midnight-black hair that was never in the same place twice, pale skin that easily flushed when embarrassed, a slightly turned-up nose and—from what he could see through the glasses—crystal-clear blue eyes. He could see a pain in those eyes, as well as a sort of longing. But what for? Bruce couldn't ask. Heck, he could barely even look at the boy without being reminded of that fateful night so very, very long ago.

"I... guess I'm in big trouble again, huh?" Dick said. He looked guiltily down at his feet as he poked at the glasses once more.

"Not exactly."

"Meaning...?"

"You stuck up for yourself, which was good."

Dick grinned a little.

"It's the way you phrased it that was bad."

Dick's face fell and he looked back down at his shoes.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a very short temper?"

"Sure, lots of times."

"I think I know why."

"Me, too."

Dick looked up at Bruce. Was this guy actually talking to him, or was he just making observations that Dick wasn't supposed to be answering?

_Either way, I guess it's like a conversation... triumph number one! I talked to the Zombie!_

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Later on that day, Peter's mother called the Wayne household. And she was no less infuriated than Mrs. Anderson had been.

"Mr. Wayne, I demand that your son be removed from the school! He nearly killed my poor Peter!" she yelled.

"From what I've seen, it was more like the other way around—and he's not my son," Bruce told her in a low voice.

"Well, whatever! He's still in _your_ care and _you're_ responsible for him and his actions!"

"I'll admit that I am responsible for Dick, but Dick is responsible for his own actions."

"I still say remove him before he hurts someone else!"

"How could Dick 'nearly kill' a boy twice is height and weight? And he's been my ward for almost two months already: Dick wouldn't hurt anyone unless attacked first."

This lady was really beginning to get on Bruce's nerves. If this is the way Mrs. Anderson had acted, then he suddenly understood why Dick had been so rude to her earlier.

"Are you calling my son a liar?" Peter's mother demanded in a shrill voice.

"What did he tell you?"

"My boy came home looking half-dead, Mr. Wayne!" the woman insisted. "He walked right through our door with about a hundred cuts and gashes and a still-bleeding lip, just barely managing to tell me that it was Dick Grayson who had jumped him for no reason—good or bad!"

"If that's what your son said, then YES, I AM calling him a liar."

"Well!"

::SLAM::

Bruce sighed. What was with these parents anyway? He was just glad that he had sent Dick to bed a half-hour ago; otherwise he surely would have heard the conversation. And the last thing Bruce needed at the moment was a smart-alecky comment from Dick Grayson about his choice of words.

* * *

**_Reviewer Replies_** (yea!) 

_I am Dick. I am doing the reviewer replies for this story because... well, because I feel like it._

**Bumpkin**--It's not crud? Oh, good. Panamint will be very happy to hear that... if she ever stops singing that song from the "Cover Girl" finale, that is... if you can call that singing. ;-)

**annie**--More? Of course there's more! There's gotta be at least a zillion pages in this story!! Where she comes from, Panamint has been infamous for writing long stories ever since the second grade.

**Teri**--'It means 'no worries' for the rest of your days...' oops, sorry. Been watching too many cartoons again. :-) Anyway, thanks. Panamint was scared stiff that she'd get about fifty flames for this one. Why, don't ask, cuz I happen to like it. And apparently, so do you.

**Jenn11**--Of course I have honor!! Whaddya think I am, a fink like that Billy jerk? Anyway, glad you liked it (truth be told, this was originally going to be four parts instead of two, but Panamint could never finish the first two parts and chopped the whole thing in half. But don't tell her I told you that.)


	3. Chapter Three

_**Misfit**_

**_Chapter Three_**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except what I own.**

**Ha! I knew you'd ask about the glasses as soon as I mentioned 'em. Well, I put them in because--for one thing--it was very original and no one had ever done it before (I like being the first to do something). Also, it gave Dick something else to remember his parents by and another reason for him to be teased at school (I like being merciless, too.) As for where I got the idea... well, either "The Princess Diaries" has been having some really weird effects on my brain, or my muses need straight-jackets.**

"But Mom, I have to go to school today!" Billy protested.

His mother sighed. "You really _are _sick," she said, shaking the thermometer and her head simultaneously. "Since when do you want to go to school?"

Billy didn't answer. How do you tell you own mother that you want to go to school for the express purpose of humiliating the new kid in front of the entire student body, anyhow?

"Well, for whatever reason, you aren't going today, and that is final," said Mrs. West. She got up and left the room with the thermometer.

Billy slouched in his bed. Stupid cold! Why did he have to get sick today of all days?

_Just you wait, Grayson,_ Billy thought. _I'll get you for making fools out of my friends yet!_

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

With Billy home sick and Dylan and Peter in detention, Dick had a pretty decent day at school. Sure, a couple of the other kids had teased him about being short, and having glasses, and wearing the necklace with the wedding rings on it, and then there was the old 'rich kid' routine that some idiot (probably Billy) had started a couple of days before, but at least the real trouble-makers weren't there.

There was just one downside: fractions and decimals. That was probably Dick's weakest point, especially since he had never had any formal education before leaving Haly's Circus.

"Matt Wilder from Miss Eugene's fifth-grade class will tutor you during the lunch hour," Ms. Whitman said. When she saw the look on Dick's face, she added, "You're not in trouble, Dick; you just need some help on those numbers."

So Matt Wilder—who, Dick didn't know, was the most popular guy in the school—stayed in during recess to help Dick get back on track with the fractions and decimals.

"I don't think I know your full name yet," Matt said once they were alone in the empty classroom. "I mean, I know your first name is Dick, but what goes with it?"

"Grayson."

"Okay. Now I can work with you."

For the first half-hour, Matt helped his charge finally get the knack of adding and subtracting fractions. He also helped him learn about converting fractions into decimals, which were much easier to operate on.

For the second half-hour, the boys mostly talked about anything under the sun _except _math.

"I heard you were living with Bruce Wayne," Matt said.

Dick sighed. "Yeah," was all he said. Matt didn't seem to notice Dick's lack of enthusiasm about living with one of the world's richest men.

"So, what's he like?"

"Well..." What _did_ Dick know about his guardian anyway? All he had seemed to find out was that... okay, he didn't know anything. Period.

Finally, Dick said, "All I know is that he doesn't have to worry about laugh-lines anytime soon."

Matt snorted. "First of all, genius, it's mostly just women who worry about things like that. And what's that supposed to mean anyway?"

Dick hesitated. Should he confide in Matt or say "Never mind, let's move on with the math"?

_Aw, what the heck? What harm could it possibly do?_

"The guy never smiles—and please take 'never' literally," Dick told the boy. "He hardly even talks to me! I try to be nice and he just makes up excuses to leave the room. Why? Don't ask. I never did anything to him, and he's the one who offered to take me in the first place!"

Matt was silent. After a pause, he said, "I'm sorry."

Shrugging, Dick replied, "Let's just get back to the math."

The bell rang, signaling the end of recess and Dick's free math lesson.

Matt went back to his class, still thinking about all that Dick had said. He barely even noticed when more than half the kids in the halls waved and smiled and said 'hello' to him. His thoughts were still on Dick. Matt suddenly felt a little guilty. Maybe he shouldn't have started that 'rich kid' thing...

_He'll get over it,_ thought Matt dismissively before returning to his books. _What do I care? I have friends; is another new kid who everyone's picking on my fault?_

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Dick was sitting in his usual spot by the school, waiting for Alfred to come pick him up. He still wished he could join the other kids on the playground. If only that anonymous creep hadn't started the 'rich kid' rumor, then he might stand a chance...

"Dick."

He turned and saw Grace Winslow standing timidly next to him. Dick quickly stood up and brushed off his pants. He didn't meet Grace's eye.

"Ummm... hi, Grace," Dick greeted awkwardly.

"Hi," said Grace. "Well... I... I guess..." She stammered.

"What is it?" Dick asked gently.

Something in his voice gave Grace the courage to say, "I just wanted to thank you—for stopping Dylan and Peter, I mean. That took a lot of guts, and you got into trouble on account of me."

Dick could feel his face turning red right through the bruises and his dad's glasses. Since when did girls talk to him, let alone thank him? Come to think of it, since when did _anybody_ talk to him these days?

"You didn't do anything wrong. I had to do something," he told her modestly.

"Thanks anyway. I really appreciate it," Grace finished up in a whisper. She quickly ran away before anyone saw them and decided to start a 'Grace has a boyfriend' or 'Dick has a girlfriend' rumor.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The next day was pretty much like the previous one: morning lessons, Matt tutored Dick during the lunch hour, afternoon lessons, go home.

Then there was the weekend, which Dick spent mostly in his room. He didn't have any friends to go out with, there was no homework to be done, Bruce was off at some business meeting for the afternoon and Alfred was at the market. In other words, for the first time in his life, Dick was completely alone.

Dick swallowed hard. What had he done to deserve this? He had always trained hard and given good performances, not to mention studying during the off-season. So why, instead of dazzling people with his quadruple spin, was he sitting all alone on a Saturday afternoon in a room that was supposed to be his? It certainly didn't feel like his. It was so... cold.

Dick stood up. He decided he needed a nice, long walk outside. So what if he wasn't supposed to leave the house without telling anyone? He could worry about that later.

On his way to the bedroom door, Dick tripped over his own foot and had to steady himself by holding one of the walls.

The wall shifted.

Dick straightened up, adjusted his glasses and pushed it again. It creaked a little, and Dick could see a thin line which formed the shape of a door.

Finally, he pushed the door for all he was worth and it collapsed. Dick collapsed with it, caught off-guard when the door gave way.

Groaning a little, Dick dragged himself slowly to his feet. He was now looking at a long, dusty staircase that led up to... somewhere. But where?

_There's only one way to find out!_

Dick grabbed his flashlight from the dresser drawer and cautiously began to ascend the staircase.

First thing he noticed—a million spider webs with a million spiders to match. Dick shuddered a little. He knew he shouldn't be scared of spiders—they were so tiny!—but he couldn't help it. Not after he had found a tarantula on his bed while the circus was wintering in Florida last year.

Next thing he noticed—a lot of dust. Dick hated dust. It made his eyes red and his nose stuffy. But he was too curious about what might be at the end of the staircase to back down.

Finally, he reached the top. Dick was now in some sort of attic. It looked as if nobody had been up there in years. No, centuries. Everything was covered in a couple of layers of dust. As he made his way closer to the center of the old attic, something scuttled by his sneaker. Dick didn't even want to know what it was.

_If Bruce is so rich, why doesn't he fix this place up? _Dick thought in confusion. _It could be a real nice room if he did... hmmm... and he might want to start the insulation. It's everywhere BUT in the ceiling!_

The floorboards creaked ominously, and Dick was half scared that they would break and he would fall into the living room or something. Alfred would kill him if anything like that ever happened. As it was, he was still skating on thin ice after ruining his school uniform.

Dick was concentrating so hard on not falling through the floor that he tripped over a small trunk in the middle of the room. The flashlight fell from his hand as he unsuccessfully tried to break his fall.

Dick sneezed as his nose came into contact with the dust.

"Ouch," Dick muttered, rubbing his toe where it had hit the trunk. He immediately began feeling around for his glasses.

"Maybe Alfred was right," Dick muttered aloud as he searched for the missing glasses. "Maybe I _should _wear contacts... nah!"

Finally, Dick's fingers came into contact with the familiar roundness of his father's old glasses. Dick wiped them off on his shirt (which he wasn't really supposed to do) and put them back on, but it didn't improve his vision any because of the dim light in the attic. After another minute of blindly crawling around, he found his flashlight and gave that trunk the once-over. The green paint had seen better days; the lock was completely covered in rust. Dick touched the lock gingerly. It cracked and fell to the ground, startling him.

Now that the lock was gone, Dick carefully lifted the lid of the trunk. It was filled was several pairs of clothes, including a faded wedding dress. Although it was slightly yellowed, it was still beautiful.

On top of the clothes were several photo albums, a bunch of old newspaper clippings and a few other items, including a small leather bag and a framed painting of a man, a woman and a small boy who couldn't have been much older than Dick.

Dick took the portrait out and examined it carefully. That man looked suspiciously like Bruce, but the date in the bottom right-hand corner of the painting told him it wasn't possible.

But maybe...

Dick took a closer look at the boy. Black hair, gray eyes... hmmm... but he was smiling. No, it couldn't possibly be Bruce Wayne.

Setting the portrait aside, Dick took out the bag and emptied its contents into the palm of his hand. He sucked in his breath.

There was a diamond necklace and a cameo, along with a pair of emerald earrings and a sapphire bracelet. The thought that he was holding a fortune in one hand crossed the stunned boy's mind before he quickly replaced the jewelry and picked up the stack of newspaper clippings. He sincerely hoped there was nothing valuable in or about them. Holding a million dollars worth of rock was too much of a shock for a boy who had spent most of his life earning peanuts for flying seventy feet above the ground.

The first thing that caught Dick's eye was the large, black letters on the top article. They shouted:

**GOTHAM BILLIONAIRES MURDERED**

Dick was beginning to have a strange feeling about all of this. Why would Bruce keep a trunk full of old newspaper articles, jewels, photos and other junk in an attic that he didn't come up to visit? And why did the males in the picture look suspiciously like Dick's guardian? Even the female reminded him of Bruce! Dick was starting think that he should have asked before coming up here, or forgotten about the shifting wall entirely.

Dick shivered slightly. He wasn't cold, but he was scared.

_Quit acting like a coward!_ he scolded himself. _Just read the article. What harm could it possibly do...?_

_Famous last words, Grayson. Famous last words._

Despite the warning signals he was receiving, Dick was too curious to heed them and read the article anyway. And once he was through, he almost wished he hadn't:

"Yesterday, the Gotham City's two wealthiest socialites—Dr. Thomas and Mrs. Martha Wayne—were murdered by an unknown assassin near their home at 9:30 PM.

While little is known about the attack due to the fact that the only party with them at the time is not available for comment, it is believed that the couple was murdered due to their refusal to give the assailant a specified amount of cash. A full-scale investigation and hunt for the murderer will commence tomorrow morning at ten.

Dr. and Mrs. Wayne will be missed dearly in Gotham City, and will be remembered best for their acts of philanthropy and the founding of their well-known organization, the Wayne Foundation.

They are survived by their only son, ten-year-old Bruce Wayne, who is now—"

Dick didn't have the heart, the stomach, or the courage to finish reading the article. In fact, if he had been eating something, he surely would have choked on whatever was in his mouth. Bruce's parents had been murdered, too?! How did life get so gruesome and depressing all of a sudden?

Dick dropped the articles back into their places and picked up the portrait again. This time, there was no doubt in his mind who the cheery little boy was.

Slowly, things began falling into place.

"No wonder he doesn't talk to me," Dick murmured. "I remind him too much... of him because my parents were murdered, too. And I'll bet that HE was the 'only party with them at the time'! I wonder what he thought when he saw _my_ parents killed, too..."

Dick couldn't believe he had just said that. It hurt just to think about his parents' death, let alone admit it out loud.

He quickly replaced the articles, closed the trunk, dusted his hands off and hurried back to his room, sincerely wishing he had just minded his own business.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

That night at around eleven, Dick awoke, panicked, from another nightmare. He had been having a lot of those lately, mostly about how his parents had been murdered and how he himself could have prevented their deaths. Why hadn't Mom and Dad listened when Dick was trying to tell them about Zucco? Zucco had _told _Pop Haly that terrible things would happen! If only Dick had _made_ them listen! But they had been so preoccupied with dressing for their performance that they had told Dick to wait until later.

Dick couldn't believe that, nearly two months later, he was still having nightmares about...

It suddenly struck him: The crook's laughing face in his dream hadn't been Zucco's; it had been someone else's, someone whose face had always remained in shadow. The man and woman hadn't been on the trapeze; they had been taking a walk near a large house that reminded Dick of his current home. And the little boy hadn't looked like Dick either; he had looked like the boy in the portrait.

_Great! Just great!_ Dick thought, slamming a fist into the mattress. _As if it isn't enough that I'm having nightmares about my own parents' murders—now I have to have nightmares about other people's murders!_

Dick put his glasses back on, got out of bed and sat on the window seat. He fingered the chain with Mom and Dad's wedding rings on it. The chain was rusted and the rings had next to no monetary value, but all three pieces of jewelry had plenty of sentimental value. And he didn't care if the kids at school started calling him a sissy on top of anything else or not. He was just glad to have something—anything--to remember his parents by.

Another thought struck Dick: Bruce had so many things upstairs to remember his parents by. Why didn't he ever look at them? Dick knew how much it hurt to lose someone that you love, but wasn't it better to try and remember the happy times you shared with those people than to try and forget them altogether? Dick wasn't sure anymore. All he knew was that he needed to have a talk with Bruce about this, no matter what the punishment for wandering into rooms that were off-limits.

* * *

**_Reviewer Replies_**

_I--Dick Grayson--am once again doing the reviewer replies for that lazy, worthless Panamint. ::Sigh::_

**Laurel-Anne Romm--**Yes, I've always like that line, too. So insulting. :-) And don't worry: if Panamint dares to even THINK of chickening out, I'll ring her neck for you.

**Bumpkin--**Thanks, glad you liked it (although I didn't write it, so why I'm saying 'thanks' is beyond me). And your explanation has gone topside, as if you haven't already seen.

**immortal squeaker--**Oh, I think you'll like what happens next. And your explanation has also gone topside.

**Jenn11--**All I can say to that is thanks and :-)


	4. Chapter Four

**_Misfit_**

**_Chapter Four_**

**Disclaimer: Once again, it's me, Dick. I know I'm supposed to be down in Reviewer Replies, but I've decided that _I_ am taking over this story!! After all, who better to tell the story than the person who experienced it, right?**

**Panamint--"WRONG!!"**

**Dick--"::sighs:: Okay, okay. I'll just say that Panamint doesn't own me, alright? Fine! ::walks away grumbling::"**

Dick didn't get the chance to talk things over with Bruce the next morning because he had already left for some unknown place. Dick didn't even bother asking Alfred where Bruce had gone; it was most likely another business meeting anyway. And besides, Dick had more important things to worry about—how was he going to present his problem to Bruce? Would the man even listen? What would his reaction be when he learned that Dick had gone up to the secret attic and snooped around in the trunk? Dick wished he could know now, but he just had to wait till after school.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Billy snuck down the hall. His mother had finally deemed him well enough to get out of bed. Billy had been waiting all weekend for his chance to humiliate Grayson, and the more he thought about it, the more elaborate his plan had become until it involved getting the principal out of her office so he could use the Intercom.

_Grayson's gonna regret what he did to my pals, getting them suspended and all!_ Billy thought. Sweet revenge was the only thing on his mind this wet and rainy November morning.

Billy paused outside Principal McNeilson's door. He stopped outside not only to make sure everything would occur right on schedule, but also to regain control of his laughter. A single giggle could ruin the whole scheme. He had to remain in perfect panic for his plan to succeed. And so, with his face the very image of a distraught schoolboy...

"Principal McNeilson! Principal McNeilson!" Billy yelled wildly, throwing open the office door and running straight to the shocked principal's desk.

"What is it, Billy?" she asked.

"It's a couple of the guys down in the cafeteria! They're tryin' to murder each other right now, and one of 'em threatened to use his Boy Scout knife!" Billy fibbed.

McNeilson paled at the thought and ran right out the door, nearly knocking over several students on their way to class in her frenzy.

Billy laughed to himself at the result of his act and quickly shut the door and locked it, not anticipating the fact that Principal McNeilson had an extra key on her at that very moment. Billy was too excited to contemplate that.

He went over to the desk and waited.

_Five,_ he counted. _Four... three... two... one..._

The school bell rang.

_Showtime!_

Billy sat in silence for a few more seconds, mentally viewing all the students grabbing their backpacks and following their respective teachers to their rooms. Once he was sure that everyone was seated, he turned on the Intercom. No one would notice anything unusual about the Intercom being turned on at first since McNeilson always made a few morning announcements before class. And what an announcement Billy had to make!

Billy propped his feet up on the desk, cleared his throat and began:

"Good morning, people, this is Billy West. I'm just... filling in... for Principal McNeilson this morning since she's a little busy at the moment..."

* * *

**_Reviewer Replies_**

_Ahhh, cliffhanger--dontcha just LOVE 'em?!_

**Bumpkin--**Well, you're just about the faster reviewer I ever saw! And I--and Panamint--are very glad that you're enjoying it. We hope that this chapter is just as good!

**Jill--**Thank you. :-) And sorry about the continuity issues. Panamint's always been completely useless when it comes to continuity...

**Jenn11**--Ooooh, love nice reviews like that one!! And, strictly off the record (James Cagney said that, LOL), we will be seeing more of Matt eventually, along with another guy called Jesse... but I'm not really supposed to say that...


	5. Chapter Five

_**Misfit**_

**_Chapter Five_**

**Disclaimer:** **Eh, you get the picture.**

Just as Dick sat down, there was a loud beep, some static and then a voice: 

_"Good morning, people, this is Billy West..."_

Everyone in the class started murmuring quietly amongst themselves. Even Ms. Whitman looked thoroughly confused and if she didn't know what was going on, nobody did.

_"I'm just... filling in... for Principal McNeilson this morning since she's a little busy at the moment..."_

"Why would the principal get one of the worst-behaved students in the school to give the Morning Announcements? Shouldn't she have gotten the Assistant Principal?" Nichelle asked a boy named Jesse, who just shrugged.

_"Now, first thing on the agenda this dreary morning: I did some research—yes, research—the other day about... oh, what's his name... Dick, uh, Grayson, I believe?"_

All head turned towards Dick, who flushed.

_"Anyway, he's the new guy at our school, see. And most of us people don't know much about him cuz he never says nothin' to nobody. Well, like I said, I did some research... Have you ever heard of, ah..."_

_Papers rustling._

_"...'Haly's Circus'?"_

Dick could hear his heart pounding in his ears and was sure everyone else in the room could hear it as well.

_"Yeah, I thought so. Well, as you will also note, Haly's Circus recently pulled out of Gotham City, but they left one member of their famous troupe behind. Yup, that member—or rather, EX-member is none other than Dick Grayson!"_

The class's murmurings began again. Dick felt his heart leap into his throat. This couldn't be happening! Billy wasn't really announcing to the whole school that he had been in the circus! He couldn't be!

Billy's tone sounded light and easy as he continued: _"Yessiree, Dickie was a circus star, third member of that well-known act the Flying Graysons. Trapeze artists, I think they were... well, no matter now. The other two-thirds were killed right before the eyes of hundreds of spectators just this September."_

Dick's eyes filled with tears as he thought about that horrible afternoon two months ago, but he forbade himself to cry in front of the whole class. As it was, the murmurings were getting louder. A few of the kids snickered.

_"Uh-huh. Everything I say is one-hundred percent true. Oh, another one-hundred percent true fact just came in: only freaks are in the circus and should stay there where they belong!"_

More laughter and mutterings of agreement. Dick wanted to get up and shout to the world that neither he nor his parents nor any of his circus friends were freaks, and then go down to the principal's office and pound Billy to a pulp for humiliating him like this, not to mention insulting his lifelong friends. He was proud of being an ex-circus star, and would be prouder still if he had been able to remain a circus star!

Then it got worse.

The next thing Dick knew, Billy was singing "The Man on the Flying Trapeze" at the top of his lungs. Before he knew it, the whole class was singing along, with the exception of Ms. Whitman, who was trying to get the class to settle down. Although Dick didn't see them, Jesse and Grace weren't laughing either. The former didn't really care about Dick at the moment, but he thought that the other students were going just a bit too far in the teasing department, especially Billy. And Grace still owed Dick after he had put an end to Dylan and Peter's teasing and threats.

"Stop this right now—this very instant!" Ms. Whitman was shouting, but the class just continued to laugh and sing. It was so noisy in there that nobody noticed when Billy stopped singing and the Intercom was turned off, courtesy of Principal McNeilson. And even if they had heard, it wouldn't have mattered. Billy's false message had already gotten through to the students: loud and clear.

Dick looked around with wide, frightened eyes. Everyone was laughing at him, his parents and everything he had ever loved. They were teasing a way of life that he had been born in to, a career that he had worked so very hard to succeed at since day one. And they were _laughing_ at it!

Unable to stand it any longer, he grabbed his backpack and his jacket, stood up and left the room, oblivious to everything except the taunts and jeers of his classmates.

During Dick's trek to the nearest exit, several students that were passing in the hallways started yelling 'Circus Boy' or singing that song at first sight of the ex-aerialist. Dick kept walking, trying to ignore the yells and the hot tears that stung in his eyes.

He finally made it out. It was still raining hard, but Dick couldn't have cared less if he caught pneumonia from standing out there. He was just glad to get away from the unfeeling taunts and cruel laughter.

Dick's insides twisted as Billy's words rang in his ears...

_"Yessiree, Dickie was a circus star..."_

_"...killed right before hundreds of spectators just this September..."_

_"Only freaks are in the circus and should stay there where they belong..."_

Dick covered his ears, willing the phrases away, but they just kept pounding away in his head, reminding him of the horror, the screams, the confusion of that terrible day in September.

"NO!" Dick yelled. He couldn't take it any more. He needed to get away from here. Dick began running towards the nearest bus stop. He wanted to go home. Not his new home; he wanted Pop Haly and the Circus—his real home.

Unfortunately, when Dick arrived at the stop, he read the travel route and discovered that it was only a local bus. It wouldn't go any farther than the Gotham City Museum of Art, which was a few miles outside of town. Dick would never be able to walk from the Museum all the way to Nashville, where Haly's Circus was now at! But he could make it to Stately Wayne Manor if he walked for four straight miles, and that's what Dick decided to do.

When the bus arrived, Dick did a quick check of his pockets to make sure he had the $2.50 required to ride. He had just enough, although it was mostly in small coins, and hopped on.

It took Dick a while to put all the money into the slot, much to the driver's chagrin. Dick figured he was lucky that everyone was at work or school at the moment, so that no one else was on to get mad at him too.

When Dick sat down in a front seat, the driver observed his newest passenger. He looked as if he had been crying. Or maybe it was just the rain? Well, it didn't matter. He was paid to drive buses, not to psychoanalyze the passengers.

Dick gazed out the window, the angry tears still falling. How could people be so cruel, so prejudiced? What was wrong with being a circus star anyway? Nothing! _We're people with feelings, with lives,_ thought Dick, prodding the thick glasses. _So what if we don't sit behind a desk for a living? Being a trapeze artist, a bareback rider or even a bearded lady is still a profession—and a very special one at that!_

Before he knew it, the bus had stopped in front of the Museum. Dick got off and began his long walk home.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Dick could have made it there faster than the two hours it took him, but he had walked very slowly, still needing time to think on his own. But he eventually reached the Manor and it was a tired, wet, frustrated, muddy, confused and still angry Dick Grayson that opened the door, nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose and removed his sneakers in the entryway.

The boy sincerely hoped that nobody was home. He looked around. There were no signs of life, but there never had been as far as Dick could tell, so he wasn't sure.

"HELLO?!" he yelled.

No one answered. Unknown to Dick, both Bruce and Alfred were down underneath the grand house, in a secret room that Dick wouldn't be aware of for several months yet.

Dick trudged up to his room. He wiped his eyes for the umpteenth time that day. He didn't want to cry, and he didn't understand why the tears wouldn't stop. All he knew was that he was crying and couldn't do anything about it.

Almost instantly after reaching his room, Dick changed out of his grimy jacket and school clothes, tossed them in the hamper (knowing Alfred would not appreciate the fact that his school clothes were ruined—again) and changed. Finally he flung himself onto his bed and cried himself to sleep.

**_End of Part One_**

* * *

**_Reviewer Replies_**

_Hmmmm... whether you would call this cruel, unrealistic or insane I'll never know. _

**Bumpkin--**Well, here's the chapter you wanted. I hope it was merciless enough for you. ;-) Personally, I think it was TOO merciless... but that's just my opinion.

**Whistling Fish--**Thank you very much! We like your stories, too. "The Foe" was fantastic, but that "Aftermath"... ::snicker, snicker::

**Jenn11**--You're welcome. I like giving out sneak peeks. And I think you'll find 'the talk' very interesting. It might take a while to get to, though (another sneak peek there...)


	6. Chapter Six

_**Misfit**_

**_Chapter Six_**

**Disclaimer: Uh-uh.**

_**Part Two:**_

**_To Love Again_**

Dick blinked. Where was he? It was Monday. Shouldn't he be in school, doing history or geography or something right now...?

"Feeling better?"

Dick jumped at the sound of the voice. He looked around and finally spotted Bruce Wayne sitting on the bed next to him, staring intently at him.

Dick couldn't answer. He just sat up and stared back, too upset and too embarrassed at being caught to say anything.

"Care to talk about it?"

"It's nothing," Dick said shakily. Taking a deep breath, he said, more confidently, "It's nothing. My social life just ended, that's all—at least it would have if I had ever_ had_ a social life."

"That sounds like a lot of nothing," Bruce replied. After a minute, he said, "What happened?"

Dick would have liked nothing more than to throw his arms around Bruce's neck and cry his heart out, like he had done with Dad whenever something had bothered him.

But he knew he couldn't do that. He'd never be able to do that again.

Dick gulped. "Well..." he said uncomfortably. An instant later, it all came tumbling out: "This idiot at school announced over the Intercom that I used to be a trapeze artist! And he called me and my parents' freaks and then he started laughing and singing and everyone joined him!" Quietly, he added, "I couldn't stay there anymore, so I left."

Bruce was silent for a minute, thinking all this over. How could anybody be low enough to humiliate a new student in front of the entire school? And how could he just throw the unfortunate murder of his parents' right back into his face only two months later? That was just plain cruel, and he wasn't going to sit back and let Dick suffer because of some boy's vindictiveness!

"Bruce?" Dick's voice cut into his thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Can I skip school for a few days—like maybe for the rest of my life? I don't think I can face those kids again."

"You'll have to face them eventually, Dick."

"PLEASE!"

"You can stay home for the rest of the day, but you go back tomorrow."

"But—"

"No buts! The sooner you face them, the better. Besides, it's _my_ turn to make the phone calls!"

Bruce stood up and left the room, almost slamming the door behind him. Dick jumped. He had never seen Bruce this angry. But what was he angry at? The fact that Dick had been relentlessly ridiculed in front of the whole school or that Dick had come home when he wasn't supposed to? Maybe both?

_There has got to be some way to figure this guy out,_ Dick thought as he followed Bruce downstairs.

Dick finally caught up with Bruce and had to jog just to keep up with the man's long strides. The duo had almost reached the living room when they nearly bumped into Alfred.

"Sir—" Alfred stopped short and stared at Dick, whose face was covered in tearstains. Not to mention the fact that he wasn't supposed to be home for another two hours. And where _was _that boy's uniform? Not ruined again, he hoped.

"I'll explain later," Bruce said. "What is it, Alfred?"

"I was just coming to tell you that you have a phone call, sir," said Alfred.

"Thank you."

Bruce walked into the living room with Dick not far behind.

Dick watched silently with his hands behind his back as Bruce picked up the phone. He could just make out a voice on the other end that sounded like Principal McNeilson.

"I was just calling to tell you about something that happened in school today," the principal was saying.

"Dick's already told me," Bruce answered.

"Dick is there?! Thank goodness! From what Ms. Whitman told me, he was pretty upset when he ran out of class this morning."

Dick turned a little red and pushed his glasses up, embarrassed.

"Did you expect him _not_ to be upset?" said Bruce coldly.

"Er... no, not really. But Dick seems like such a friendly little boy and I never would have forgiven myself if anything had happened to him."

"Neither would I."

Dick was stunned. What did Bruce mean by that? Did he mean that he never would have forgiven the principal or that he never would have forgiven himself?

_Either way, it means he must like me at least a teensy-weensy bit,_ Dick thought hopefully.

"Thank you for calling, Miss McNeilson. You saved me the trouble. I was going to call to discuss this and the _behavior_ of your _students_," Bruce was saying.

"I assure you, Billy's parents have heard of this and he will be punished severely for his actions. And I do apologize, Mr. Wayne. Um... if you'll excuse me, I must talk with Billy's parents now."

"Of course. Good-bye."

Bruce hung up and turned back to Dick, who was still staring at him intently.

"And I think you and I have some talking to do as well," Bruce told Dick.

Dick knew it wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation, but he was practically floating just the same. Imagine: he and Bruce were going to have their first real conversation together!

_Triumph number two: Mr. Doom-and-Gloom wants to talk to me!!_

Bruce led Dick over to one of the couches in the living room and sat down. Dick took a seat on the arm of the sofa and put his feet on the cushions, something he wasn't supposed to do. Bruce noticed, but decided not to say anything at the moment. Dick didn't need criticism on top of everything else. And it wasn't like he was wearing shoes or anything.

Just as Bruce was about to begin talking, he noticed the chain around Dick's neck and the slight bump under his shirt near his throat.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing.

Dick looked down and sighed. So much for secrecy!

"Pop Haly gave this to me the... the last day I saw him," Dick explained, taking the chain off and handing it to Bruce for further examination.

"They're wedding rings," Bruce observed.

"My parents' wedding rings," Dick said quietly. "I've been wearing the chain every day since. It makes me feel a little better... pretty dumb, huh?"

"No. I don't think so."

"The kids at school do," Dick mumbled bitterly. "They found out about it during that fight the other day and now, they've started calling me sissy on top of everything else."

"Do you think it's dumb?"

"NO! It was a present from Pop Haly, and my parents wore those rings for almost eleven years! Why would I think it's dumb?!"

"If you don't think it's dumb, then does it really matter what anyone else thinks?"

Dick chewed his lip. He didn't like being the laughing stock of the entire school. But if fitting in meant giving up the special chain, then he'd rather stay the laughing stock.

"No. You're right, Bruce; it doesn't matter," said Dick, sounding happier than he had in days. He even smiled.

At the sight of Dick somewhat cheery again, Bruce couldn't help but give a little half-smile in return. Dick blinked. Had Bruce just smiled at him, or was it his imagination?

_I hope not! Triumph number three: Mr. Dark-and-Dismal smiled at me!_

"Now, back to the original subject," Bruce announced, handing back Dick's necklace. He watched as Dick replaced the chain around his neck.

"Yes?" said Dick once he was ready. Bruce noticed that the boy poked at his glasses again just before he spoke. He'd have to remember to tell Alfred to tell Dick not to do that any more. It was becoming an increasingly annoying bad habit.

"Do you have any idea why this... Billy would want to tease you? Did you do something to offend him or his friends?" Bruce asked.

"Of course not... well, I got his two best pals in detention..." Dick grinned sheepishly. "Think that had anything to do with it?"

"Probably."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Dick didn't want to get up. He didn't want to leave the comfort and security of his blankets or his room. And most of all, he didn't want to go to school. What would the other kids think and say when they saw him? They'd probably start teasing him all over again. Dick wasn't sure he could stand that.

But he had to. He knew that if he wasn't up in another minute or so, Alfred would knock on the door and make him get up.

_Maybe Bruce will change his mind and let me stay here all day,_ Dick thought hopefully. _As if. But maybe if I'm super, super lucky—_

Somebody knocked on the door.

"Master Dick." Alfred. Of course. "Are you awake yet?"

Dick sighed. He was far from used to being called 'Master' all the time and didn't really want to go to school, either.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm up," Dick grumbled.

"Then I suggest you hurry before you are late for school."

"All-RIGHT!"

Dick could hear Alfred's footsteps as he walked down the hall and back downstairs. Once the footsteps faded, Dick lay in bed for another minute. He really dreaded the thought of going back to the laughing faces and the uncaring jeers of his vindictive classmates. But he knew that Alfred would come back and physically rouse him if he wasn't down at the breakfast table in a matter of minutes, so Dick hurriedly fumbled for his glasses, dressed, ran down the hall and—to save time—slid down the banister. He had been told never to do that after being caught the first time, but it saved him a whole fifteen seconds!

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Dick hesitated before rounding the corner of the school and making his presence known to the other students. He didn't really want to do this. Maybe he should just spend the day walking around Gotham City and then return to the front of the school when Alfred arrived to pick him up to make it look like he had been in school.

_But the principal would call Bruce and ask him where I was. Then he'd say that he had sent me to school and that I was supposed to be there and I'd be in big trouble for playing hookie._

Dick sighed.

"Why can't I fit in?" Dick asked himself aloud. Hearing the fact that he was a misfit out loud caused tears to form. "Why is everyone so prejudiced?"

"Everyone, Dick?"

Dick turned swiftly at the sound of the voice from behind. Grace stood about three feet behind him, her arms across her chest, calmly watching his every move.

Dick swallowed and said nothing. He hated crying in front of other people, especially a girl. Well, he hadn't minded crying in front of Mom when he had been little, but that was different!

Grace came closer until she was only a few inches from Dick's face. The two were about the same height, and another short step from either party would have had them nuzzling noses.

"My mother is Shoshone," Grace said softly, looking at the ground. "My father's family wouldn't accept her, so he moved here. Then I was born. We've all met with prejudice at some time or other from people who either don't think whites should marry Native Americans, or from people who don't like the Shoshone altogether."

Grace met Dick's gaze once again. "Everyone, Dick?" she repeated.

The two stared at each other for a moment before Grace walked off to the playground, arms still crossed, head still down. Dick could only watch.

Dick decided not to make an appearance at recess. He'd just stay where he was until the bell rang, and then sneak in to school behind everybody else. Everything would have to be timed just right, though; if he came out too soon, people would see him. If he came out too late, the door the students usually came in by would be locked and he'd have to take the more commonly used path, which meant more teasing.

So, when the school bell rang, Dick made sure he was just a few steps behind the nearest student so he could get in. He made sure he was last in line as the students in Ms. Whitman's class filed into their room. Unfortunately, there was a pitfall: being the last into the classroom meant that everyone was already there by the time you walk in the door. And everyone—with the exception of Billy, who had been suspended while waiting to receive a more sever punishment—saw Dick.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Circus Boy," Dylan jeered. A few of the others giggled. Dick's face turned red—from anger or embarrassment he wasn't sure—and he sat down quietly. After prodding his glasses again, of course.

Grace wanted to say something. She wanted to make them stop hurting Dick the way they used to hurt her before he came along and became the newest object of ridicule. But she couldn't. She was too shy to say anything, and standing up for a boy could spell disaster; someone was bound to start singing that 'sitting in a tree' poem, and that would just hurt Dick more than help him.

But hadn't Dick stuck up for her that day when they were calling her 'savage' and 'tattle-tale'? He hadn't been afraid of any more teasing; all he knew was that he needed to help someone in trouble.

_A boy saving a girl is different,_ she tried to convince herself as the yelling got a little louder. _They're supposed to do that. They've been doing it for years... centuries even!_

Grace still didn't feel much better.

By the time the teacher came in, the kids had already started another rousing round of "The Man on the Flying Trapeze". First sight of Ms. Whitman, however, and they all instantly shushed. The teacher never suspected a thing, although she thought that Dick's face was a little redder than usual.

"Good morning, class," said the teacher.

"Good morning, Ms. Whitman," the class said in unison.

"Now, today I would like to start with—"

"How about we have Dickie give us an oral presentation on the lives of circus freaks? That could be useful, since we have to have class with one every day..." Dylan suggested.

Several people laughed. Dick had had enough.

Standing up, he shouted, "You shut up, Dylan Anderson! My parents weren't freaks, neither are my friends and neither am I! So get your own life and stay out of mine!"

"One more word, Grayson, and I'll..." Dylan threatened, rising to his feet slowly.

"Boys!" yelled Ms. Whitman, quickly stepping in between Dylan and Dick, who looked ready to punch each other's lights out. "I've had quite enough of this! Dylan—and this goes for the rest of you, too—just _stop teasing Dick_." Turning to Dick, she added, "And Dick, you don't need to shout at people in the middle of class. Now, as I was saying..."

Dick sat back down hard, still glaring at Dylan. Dylan glared back. This was not going to be a good day.

* * *

**Reviewer Replies:**

_You tell 'em, Ms. Whitman!! Well, except that last part..._

**Bumpkin--**Billy is a big creep, isn't he? And uh... you DID exclude me from your 'nasty little so-and-so's' comment... didn't you? I don't think I'm nasty!

**Jenn11**--I agree with you on the heart-breaking part. Whole-heartedly. ;-)

**Laurel-Anne Romm--**'Great'?! Wow. Panamint has never written anything great before. Stupid, yes. Hysterical, yes. But never great. Thank you!

**immortal squeaker--**'Evil little brat'... yup, that sums Billy up wonderfully! Thank you for putting the words in my mouth. :)


	7. Chapter Seven

_**Misfit**_

_**Chapter Seven**_

**Disclaimer: **Ey-Thay on't-day elong-bay o-tay e-may. O-Say ere-thay oo-tay.

* * *

Dick was right; it was a horrible day. Not only had Dylan and the other kids started teasing him the second they got out on the playground, but he got into another fight. And ruined yet another uniform.

Dick had just been heading towards his usual spot by the wall when he heard Dylan calling, "Hey, Circus Boy..."

That was really the limit. Dick just couldn't take it anymore.

"I told you to shut up!" Dick shouted.

Peter suddenly appeared from behind the tree Dylan had been leaning on, outnumbering Dick.

"And that goes for you, too!" Dick added loudly. He no longer cared if anybody killed him or not; he was beyond furious and nobody cared about him anyway. He could have a heart attack right here and now and nobody would care. So why _not_ get killed in a school fight? It might end the misery.

"You'd better watch your language around us, kid," Peter warned. Both he and Dylan started circling the smaller boy.

"Same to you!" Dick said, his fists clenching. He followed the boys around to make sure he didn't let them out of his sight.

"You tellin' us what to do?" Dylan asked menacingly.

"Yeah! Got a problem with that?" Dick replied. He was beyond using common sense and didn't see Peter's rock hard fist coming before it drove into his stomach. Dick bent over, clutching his middle, and Peter knocked him over the head. Dick fell.

"Now what do you have to say?" asked Dylan tauntingly, standing over Dick. He was about to laugh, but Dick grabbed the larger boy's head with his feet and tossed him over. Dylan landed on his back. Some of the kids watching the fight had to laugh. That was, of course, until Peter glowered evilly at them.

But the damage had been done. The laughter had distracted Dick long enough for Dylan to recover, drag the smaller boy to his feet and deliver a good punch to the nose. When Dick stumbled backwards, Peter grabbed him and gave him an uppercut to the jaw. Dick fell again.

"Still wanna fight, Shorty?" laughed Peter as he watched Dick struggle to get up again.

Dick answered by kicking his shin and giving him a good knee-strike to the face. Then he turned and started punching Dylan for all he was worth.

"YOU THREE!" bellowed the principal, storming over to them for the second time in a week. "STOP FIGHTING RIGHT NOW!"

Dylan, Peter and Dick obeyed. Dick looked guiltily at Principal McNeilson while Peter and Dylan kept up their angry expressions.

McNeilson stood, arms akimbo, with an aggravated expression on her face.

"What are you fighting about this time?" she demanded.

"Dylan and Peter were teasing me again!" Dick cried almost instantly. He was too worked up to care if he was tattling or if it sounded whiny. "I told them to knock it off and they starting punching me!"

Principal McNeilson turned her steely glare on the two troublemakers to see if this was true. From their barely visible nods, it was.

She sighed. "Come with me to my office where we can work this out—again. But this time, maybe I can make an impression on you... I'm going to call your parents and have them come here to talk."

"WHAT?!" all three boys yelped, Dick loudest of all.

"You can't call Bruce! He'll_ murder_ me if he has to be called in because I got in trouble!" Dick protested. He turned his pleading eyes on Miss McNeilson, who was completely immune to the begging eyes and puppy-dog faces of students after years of being principal.

"I'm sorry, Dick, but if you're going to go around getting yourself into fights, I have to," said the principal sternly.

"But he didn't do anything wrong!"

All heads turned to the right. Grace stood there with tears in her hazel eyes. She had felt very guilty about not coming to Dick's rescue earlier that day, but she was definitely going to do something now.

"Dick didn't do anything!" Grace repeated. "He told them to stop, and they threw the first punches. Dick was just defending himself! Please don't get him into any trouble. Please?"

The Principal looked from one solemn face to the other. She sighed. "Alright. Once again, all four of you are coming with me to my office. We'll discuss this there, and then I'll decide whose parents to call."

Dick cringed slightly at the word 'parents'. Technically speaking, he no longer had any. While Bruce did provide him with food and clothes, and put a very expensive roof over his head, Bruce Wayne wasn't nearly as fatherly as Dick's original had been.

In the principal's office, each student gave his or her side of the story. Dick and Grace claimed that it was Dylan and Peter's fault, while Dylan and Peter tried to place the blame on Dick and Grace. It was a principal with a major headache who passed the verdict:

"Dylan and Peter, you two have been causing trouble since kindergarten. I never thought I'd say this, but thank _goodness _that next year is your _last_ at this school, and I feel very sorry for the next principal you learn under! Anyway, I'm calling both your parents. Dick, you're free to go, but if I catch you in one more fight, then I'll have no choice but to call Mr. Wayne in."

"Yes, Miss McNeilson," Dick said jovially, ignoring the warning looks on Peter and Dylan's faces.

"And stop by Nurse Takei's office on your way back to class," advised Principal McNeilson. "Grace, you make sure he does."

"Yes, Miss McNeilson," Grace and Dick replied. They both got up and left the room as McNeilson began dialing the Andersons' phone number.

The two didn't say anything for a while, until Dick finally broke the uncomfortable silence just down the hall from Nurse Takei's door.

"Ummm... about what you said earlier..." he said awkwardly.

"Yes?" Grace asked. She hoped they could become friends—not boy-and girl-friend: just plain, ordinary friends. It had been so long since she'd had one!

"I was thinking... you were right. Not everyone in the world is nasty," Dick said. "It's just been real hard lately; everyone I've met in the past couple of months hasn't liked me very much and half the stuff I don't even wanna talk about yet but... could we be friends? Not mushy friends; just _friends_?"

Grace smiled wider than she ever had.

"That is, if you don't mind being friends with a Circus Boy," Dick grinned mischievously.

"If you don't mind my being a Savage, I don't mind you being a Circus Boy," Grace said. She cringed a little at the word 'savage' but figured that if Dick could call himself a Circus Boy, she could call herself a savage... just this once.

The two shook hands and walked into Nurse Takei's office. As just plain, ordinary friends.

* * *

**_Reviewer Replies:_**

_And no, this is not leading to a romance of ANY kind! There is no romance in this story--I wouldn't allow it. :)_

**Bumpkin--**Thank you for the exemption and thank you for the review. :D 'Preciate it.

**Jenn11--**That was my reaction when I learned of Billy's punishment, except I threw a party, too. ;-)

**Neoinean--**I guess that means you like it then. 8) And here's the rest of it.


	8. Chapter Eight

**_Misfit_**

**_Part Eight_**

**Disclaimer: **I'd be typing on a brand-new laptop with a pair of silk PJs on if I did.

* * *

Grace sat, leaning against the tall oak tree in front of their school. She had "dirty blonde" hair and skin that matched the inconspicuous brown streaks that ran all through her shoulder-length cut. Her eyes were hazel—her mother's contribution—but her face was long and thin—her father's input. 

Both she and Dick were sitting under the oak tree, waiting for their rides to come for them.

Dick was more than just a little nervous. He was absolutely petrified. This was the third time in one week that he had completely destroyed his school uniform. But none of the ruined uniforms had _really_ been his fault!! Had they?

Dick unconsciously began fiddling around with the chain that he always wore. Next to the glasses, it was pretty much the only thing he had that had belonged to his parents, and he never wanted to let the special chain out of his sight.

Grace noticed her friends' preoccupied hands. "I've been meaning to ask you why you always wear that old chain," she said.

"Oh, this?" Dick was more than slightly abashed that yet another person was going to find out about his 'secret', but Grace was his friend now. His only friend.

"Well, just before I left the circus, Pop Haly—"

"Who?"

"He's the circus owner," Dick explained. "Anyway, Pop gave this to me just before he left town with the circus troupe. He put my parents' wedding rings on that old chain he always liked to wear."

"It must be very important to you," Grace said. She thought that Pop Haly had had a very good idea with the chain and rings.

"It is," Dick agreed emphatically. "Wanna see?"

"If you don't mind..."

"Everyone else has seen it. One more person won't hurt," Dick mumbled as he took off the chain again and handed it to Grace. She admired it for a few seconds before giving it back to Dick. He put the chain back around his neck.

The two sat in silence for a few minutes. Grace wanted to ask something, Dick could tell. She was just having a hard time phrasing it. He waited patiently while the girl figured out how to say what she wanted to say. Finally, Grace asked all in a rush, "Dick, were you really in the circus or did Billy make it up?"

"Why would a circus owner give something to me if I wasn't in the circus?" Dick asked.

"That's true, but were you really a trapeze artist?"

"Well, I wasn't the lion-tamer."

"I think that's fascinating!" Grace exclaimed truthfully. "I don't know why the other kids think it's weird. I mean, it's not the most common thing in the world, but I think it's wonderful!"

"For real?" Dick asked.

"We're friends. Why would I lie... oh, there's my mother. I want you to come meet her! She'll be so happy that I finally have a friend!" Grace said.

"Sure."

Dick felt a little sad that _he_ would never be introducing friends to_ his _mother, but right now, he knew he was just lucky to have a friend in the first place.

Grace stood up and waved to a brown-haired woman with dark skin in a Chevy. The woman waved back.

"Come on!" urged Grace, running full-pelt towards the car. Dick ran after her, leaving his back-pack by the tree.

Grace stopped just in front of the open car window. Actually, she almost slammed into the side-panel, but she remembered that this was her mother's new car just before she did.

"Mom," said Grace, beaming with pride. "This is Dick Grayson."

"A... friend of yours?" asked the woman hopefully. Grace was finally able to answer the nervous question with a joyful, confident "Uh-huh!"

The woman smiled broadly at them both, showing a set of slightly crooked, slightly yellowed teeth. Then she held out her hand to Dick, who shook it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Winslow," said Dick.

"The feeling's mutual, believe me," replied Mrs. Winslow. "Would you like to come over to our place for a little while? I made some cookies this morning."

"Oh, yes! Please come, Dick!" Grace agreed.

Dick was thrilled. Someone actually wanted him to come over to their house! But he knew he couldn't, not with the state his clothes were in. And he would have had to tell Bruce or Alfred where he was going anyway.

"Thanks, but I can't. My ride should be here soon, and I'm expected at home, but thanks for the offer. Maybe some other time," Dick told them.

"Alright then," said Mrs. Winslow, still smiling. "Come on, Grace."

"Okay. Bye, Dick!" Grace waved as she hopped into the back seat of the car. Dick stepped back onto the sidewalk so he wouldn't get run over and waved back. He watched sadly as the car drove away. However, the sound of the Winslow's car was quickly drowned out by the sound of another car pulling up: the Wayne limousine.

Dick quickly grabbed his backpack, opened the door and sat down, ignoring Alfred's look of complete shock and disapproval.

"Master Dick! Your clothes--!"

"Later, Alfred. Just take me back," Dick mumbled, forgetting all about his previous good mood. He had just remembered about the trunk in the attic, and how he still needed to tell Bruce that he knew his secret. It was just two days ago that Dick had discovered a secret staircase in his bedroom wall and had followed it up to the attic. He had tripped over the trunk, grown curious and opened it, only to find out that Bruce's parents had been murdered as well.

Dick sighed and looked out the window, trying to figure out how to phrase his confession and mentally gauge Bruce's reaction. Should he come straight out with it, or try to beat around the bush before Bruce finally just asked him to spill it? And Dick already knew his reaction—he'd be furious, as well he should be. After all, what gave a nine-year-old the right to snoop around in a billionaire's attic, even if that nine-year-old _was_ his ward? Now more than ever, Dick wished that he had left well enough alone.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Dick walked through the door, head down, backpack slung over his shoulder, looking very much guilty although it wasn't entirely his fault he looked like a disaster.

Bruce, who had been in the living room when he heard Dick and Alfred come in, had just walked into the entrance hall to greet the pair but stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Dick. He looked as if he had been mauled by a tiger or run over by a herd of stampeding cattle, or maybe both.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

"Fight," Dick mumbled. "I told Dylan Anderson and Peter Adams to shut up and they tried to murder me."

"Judging by your appearance, I daresay they almost succeeded," commented Alfred, taking Dick's backpack and leaving the room so that Master Bruce and Master Dick could work things out privately.

"Why did you tell them to 'shut up'?" asked Bruce once Alfred had left.

"Because they started calling me Circus Boy again, and then they called my parents..." Dick couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence with that terrible word, but Bruce got the idea.

"And in my own defense, Dylan hit me first!" Dick quickly added. "I hardly managed to get a punch in edgewise with those two jackasses ganging up on me!"

Bruce sighed. He hadn't anticipated this much trouble when he had decided to adopt the ex-circus star.

"Oh, and I kinda wanted to talk to you about something... that is, unless you're busy..." Dick said nervously, pushing his glasses in that oh-so-irritating way. He added on that last bit as quickly as possible.

"I'm not busy. We'll talk in the living room," Bruce replied. Dick tried to stifle a groan. Any other time and Bruce would have jumped at the chance not to talk with Dick. But the one time when Dick _wanted_ to get the brush-off, he didn't.

_This is turning out to be a really rotten day, _Dick thought as he followed his guardian into the unusually spacious living room.

Bruce sat down on one of the sofas and Dick sat on the coffee table, with his feet just barely touching the ground.

"Well..." Dick started reluctantly. He cleared his throat, jabbed at the glasses and tried again. "You see..."

_I don't think I'm going to like this,_ Bruce thought, eyeing Dick.

"What happened?" Bruce asked.

"The other day... I... I think I did something I wasn't supposed to," said Dick.

"And that was...?"

"I found a staircase in my wall and I followed it up to the attic," Dick blurted out. He watched Bruce's face closely for his reaction. Much to Dick's surprise, Bruce was half-smiling at him again.

"I should have known you'd find the attic eventually," Bruce said. Maybe Dick imagined it, but he could have sworn that there was a touch of pride in Bruce's voice as he said this.

_Please oh please oh please don't let that be my imagination! _he mentally begged. It had been so long since anybody had been proud of him...

"Exactly how much did you see?" Bruce asked.

"A little too much," Dick answered.

"You know, huh?"

"Gosh I'm sorry. I didn't mean to find out. It just happened!"

Dick felt a pang of sorrow as he realized that that was almost exactly what he had said to Pop Haly that day when he had overheard him talking with Zucco about money and accidents and the like.

"Was it supposed to be a secret?" Dick asked after a pause.

Bruce shook his head 'no'.

"Then why didn't you just tell me instead of avoiding me?" Dick cried, suddenly furious. "Up until I found out I thought you _hated_ me!"

Bruce was startled, but didn't let it show. "Why would I take you in if I hated you?"

"I don't know! Maybe you felt sorry for me or something!"

"Well, I did..."

"See?! I was right!"

"Not entirely. I did feel sorry for you, like anybody with any decency would. But I also took you in because I understood what you were going through and I wanted to help."

Dick eyed him suspiciously. "But that doesn't answer the question," he said in a much quieter voice. "Why didn't you just say something?"

Bruce thought a minute. There was no good answer and he knew it. He should have told Dick why he wasn't paying any attention to him. He deserved to know; he was a good kid, if not a bit on the homely side. Come to think of it, he also deserved a lot more attention than he had been getting, but that was another matter altogether.

When Bruce didn't answer, Dick jumped in, "You don't know, do you? And here's another thing: don't you think it's better to remember the good times you had with the people you love rather than to forget them altogether? Do you really think you should go hiding the past in a dusty old attic and just forget them—or rather, _try_ to forget them?" In a low voice, he added, "Do you really think that's what your parents would have wanted you to do?"

Dick stood up and left the room as his vision got blurry. He knew he had said too much already and that he'd probably be on his way to the orphanage by tonight.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Dick, his guardian had no intentions of sending him anywhere. On the contrary, Bruce thought that Dick had made several good points, although he hated to admit it. But when you were wrong, you were wrong. And he had been wrong.

How was it that, after all these years, one frightened, lonely, black-haired boy had finally wormed his way into his heart without even trying to? Sure, there had been a lot of people in his life, but he had never expected to love again, especially not so suddenly.

It was a frightening prospect: the last time he had dared to love, the woman of his dreams had turned out to be the infamous Catwoman, and before that had been his parents. After these three had left his life forever, Bruce had promised himself never to love again, to protect himself and others. But that promise was meant to be broken. And, he just realized with a start, it had been.

Bruce got up and headed for the stairs. He knew he had to say something unless he wanted to lose someone else he loved.

Before he left the room, he picked something up from a nearby table. After taking a glance at the object, he took it upstairs with him.

* * *

**_Reviewer Replies_**

_Oooh, suspense... hey, wait a sec... I'm homely?! Okay, somebody review and start a petition against this so-called author!!_

**Bumpkin--**:) Thank you very much, and thank you for reviewing all the chapters so far. Panamint has always wanted a fan club. ;-)

**Neoinean--**The next chapter should be it. Awww. :( BTW, Panamint asked me to ask you where you got the pen name.

**Jenn11**--Another fan club member!! Yay! ;-) And--not only are we too young--that stuff is just plain mushy! Holy mush! (_Batman_, Episode #64, guest-starring Julie Newmar ;))


	9. Chapter Nine

**_Misfit_**

**_Part Nine_**

**Disclaimer: **

Me: Yay, last part!! After this story, I might possibly (key words here) go on a super-brief hiatus from Bat-stuff--I'm working on a _Star Trek _fic at the moment, too, along with about a zillion others that need to get done. I just wanted you to know that I may be pokey, but I'll get my stuff up eventually.

Hmmmm... I think I forgot something...

Dick: THE DISCLAIMER!!!!!

Me: Oh, yeah! Thank you! Okay, I don't own 'em, now READ. ;)

* * *

Bruce knocked on the door to the room that Dick had been occupying for the past few months. 

"Come in," was the choked response.

Bruce opened the door and was surprised to find that Dick was placing his belongings in his suitcase.

"What in the world are you doing?" asked Bruce, placing his hands on his hips.

"Packing," Dick answered simply. He stopped momentarily to wipe his eyes and then continued to pack.

"_Why?_" Bruce said.

"Because you're going to send me to the orphanage, aren't you? For opening my big mouth?"

"Of course not!"

Dick stopped and stared. Of all the responses he had braced himself for, 'of course not' wasn't one of them.

"Well, why not? I deserve it for talking too much _and_ for getting into fights _and _for snooping _and_—"

"Dick," Bruce interrupted gently. "There is nothing you could ever do that would make me send you away."

If Dick had been stunned before, he was on the verge of heart failure now. What did this mean? That Bruce actually cared, that he had all along? Dick wasn't sure, and he couldn't make himself say anything, although his jaw worked silently for a minute, forming inaudible words.

"Dick... I think you and I need to talk."

Dick watched as his guardian walked over to the window seat and sat down. Dick sat next to him, not looking up until he felt Bruce's strong fingers under his chin, gently forcing his head upward. Dick, to his private astonishment, saw something in his guardian's eyes that he sometimes thought he'd never see again—love.

Bruce began, "I didn't tell you how... proud... very proud... of you I was when I learned how you'd stuck up for yourself and your parents against two boys who were twice your size, did I?"

Dick could feel his heart singing joyously, but he was still too upset to smile.

"No," he replied. "You never told me anything."

"I know, Dick." Bruce turned away from the boy and looked across the room. "I knew I should have said something sooner, but I just..."

"It's okay. I understand," Dick quickly assured him.

"_No_, Dick. It's _not _okay. It was very wrong of me. After..." Bruce took a deep breath and continued what he knew he must say, hard as it was. "After my parents died and after my fiancée turned out to be nothing but a criminal after my money, well... I didn't think I could ever care about anyone again."

He looked back at Dick.

"Then you came along. Pretty much right from the start you had me wrapped around your little finger, whether I knew it or not."

Dick grinned weakly.

"But I want you to know that I _did_ care about you. Ever since the first day you moved in, I've cared about you. And the proof's right here."

Bruce handed Dick the item he had carried with him upstairs. Dick took it and stared for a minute, then smiled as tears slowly filled his happy eyes.

"_An American in Paris_," he choked out, his voice catching. Looking at Bruce, he asked, "How did you know? The only one who knows why I love this movie so much is Alfred."

"Who do you think sent Alfred up here to learn more about you?" Bruce answered, a sly grin appearing on his normally solemn face.

A tear slid down Dick's small cheek as his gaze returned to the all-important movie.

"Of course, Alfred put up a good fight about it first. He said that I should be the one to represent myself, not him," Bruce explained. Dick giggled before he added, "Now I know why he said it."

Dick couldn't resist. He threw his arms around Bruce's waist and cried contently.

Bruce, stunned at first, reacted hesitantly. Then, ever so slowly, Bruce's strong arms wrapped themselves around Dick's frame in the first hug he had given since his fiancée's departure.

And, for the first time in months, Dick knew everything was going to be alright.

**_The End_**

* * *

**_Reviewer Replies_**

_What, only two reviews? Oh well. That just makes my job easier._

**Bumpkin--**'Chickie'...? Hmmm, new one on me. Not that I care or anything, but what am I blabbing for?! Thanks for being so supportive of Panamint throughout the story!! :)

**Jenn11--**Thank you for all the kind words! 8D I hope 'the talk' was worth the wait (and all the complaints I had to endure from Panamint as she wrote the dang thing!!!).

* * *

_Did anybody notice the similarities in all the bullies' names??! Like 'Billy West' and Dylan 'Anderson', for example? Well, as some of you might know, the guy who played Batman in the sixties _Batman_ television series was named Adam West. There's your West. Where does the rest come in, you ask? Well, Adam West's birth name was William West Anderson. There's your Billy and your Anderson._

_I never mentioned Peter's last name, did I? Well, if you guessed Adams, you're right. Hee._

_P.S. Anybody also notice that most of the other characters have something to do with _Star Trek_? Here ya go:_

_Nichelle Applegate--Nichelle Nichols, who played Lieutenant Uhura_

_James the Pride Patrol Officer--James T. Kirk, Captain of U.S.S. Enterprise (or James Doohan, who played Scotty. I don't really care which.)_

_Grace Winslow--Grace Lee Whitney, who played Lieutenant Rand_

_Nurse Takei--George Takei, who played Helmsman Sulu_

_Tina Kelley--Deforest Kelley, who played Doctor McCoy (A.K.A. Bones)_

_Okay, so I'm an idiot. Go ahead and call the cops. _0:-)


End file.
